A Plenitude of Human Weaknesses
by batfacedgirl
Summary: In the Mirror!Verse, McCoy is a doctor who has always managed to resist/reject Kirk's charms/demands, but when Kirk becomes captain, he asks Pike for a personal favor.  He wants McCoy as his CMO.  Warnings: Violence, Language, Non-Consensual Situations.


**A/N: Originally written for this kink meme prompt Mirror!McCoy is a doctor who has always resisted/rejected**  
**Mirror!Kirk's charms/demands, but when Kirk becomes captain, he ask Pike for a personal favor.****He wants McCoy as his CMO.****The doctor soon learns that giving Kirk what he wants is best for everyone.**

**As always, Paramount continues to own Star Trek.**

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_There are some minor benefits, Leonard McCoy supposes, to life aboard a starship. They are few and far between, but they are there. Take, for instance, the temperature. Sure, the entire environment on this tin can from hell might be as fucking fake as his ex-wife's orgasms, but it sure is easy to control. Just a simple voice request will raise the temperature, lower the lights, lock the door. _

_Against everyone but him. He's the captain now and there'll be no keeping him out._

_Which means Leonard McCoy is officially and literally fucked._

_He can't seem to control the bouts of helpless shivering but he fixes his eyes on the holo before him, clinging to it like his last lifeline and ignoring the temperature controls and the discarded blue tunic lying on his desk. They wouldn't help anyway, would only serve as flimsy protection against the deep, piercing freeze. It's the biting, stinging cold of inevitability, of failure, and it's rooted deep within his core. He's fought long and hard, desperate and fierce, only to be force fed the bitter fact that he is not an immoveable object and he has finally fallen before an unstoppable force. _

_His breath is hitching, whistling painfully in his throat as he carefully unclenches a fist and lifts the holo onto the relative safety of his highest shelf. He has so few recent pictures of his only child and he won't risk its damage. He has strung this man along for nearly three years now, and he has no doubt that tonight's reckoning will be long, hard, and messy. _

_Three years. Three damned years of fighting and ducking and evading by the skin of his teeth, and for what? So he could be personally hand delivered as a special bonus into the very hands he'd been dodging in the first place?_

Looking back to the beginning, he could nearly laugh at his own blind stupidity, but really, how the hell could he have known what he was putting himself in the path of? Just one ill-timed hangover and a bad case of aviophobia, just one lightly quipped, "I might throw up on you," had fucked the trajectory of his whole damn life. He had walked away from that shuttle with a blithe appreciation for this _character_, this James T. Kirk, a man with the titanium plated balls to throw smirks, winks, and waves across the cabin at the neckless, soulless horde of meatheads who'd ganged up and pummeled his ass just the night before. Of course, from the looks of it, the little psycho had given as good as he'd received, but Len just couldn't understand this all out courting of bad blood that Jim seemed to find so damned entertaining. He couldn't help but enjoy the show, though, sharing his precious flask with the golden blond lunatic then promptly filing him away in the back of his head as he was plunged into the daily game of survival that was life at the Imperial academy.

He toughed it out through the first two weeks as the pack of newly minted freshmen tore each other apart, battling ruthlessly for position and favor. He kept his damn head down and a score of strategically concealed hypos at the ready in a determined attempt to stave off the carnage. His quick mind and generally barbed personality placed a frail but effective wall of protection around him, but it didn't take long for his ill-advised sense of southern chivalry to land him neck-deep in shit.

He'd pulled a double shift at the infirmary, carefully reducing a young cadet's dislocated shoulders and knees, courtesy of some sadistic drill instructor, and his tired mind clearly wasn't thinking straight as he'd headed across the campus towards his bed. Why else had he veered off the path towards the sounds of muffled whimpers and pleas behind the hedges?

He'd recognized the men immediately, the same devolved assholes who'd been giving the Kirk kid shit on the shuttle. They were clearly drunk and distracted by the half-naked young recruit they'd pinned to the ground. The girl was fighting and flailing but she was no match, and Len's fists clenched.

He saw red and then he saw fists, and the girl fleeing down the path, holding the tattered remains of her uniform to her bruised body as she ran. He saw the sky above him and faces leering down at him and a wet voice whispering in his ear, "Well then, buddy-boy, I guess you just volunteered to take her place."

He'd kicked, punched, and bit as he clothing was ripped away but he wasn't much more of a challenge then the girl. Two of them had him splayed out and one was cupping his chin and calling him sweet when a golden blaze of molten fury suddenly exploded all around them. The fuckers went down hard, one by one, struggling to their feet only to be felled once more, their screams echoing above the splatter of blood and the sick, sharp snapping of bone. Len's head was woozy and punch-drunk, but he felt strong hands hauling him indelicately to his feet and dropping him over a shoulder, carrying him away like a spoil of war.

It had only taken him a minute to start struggling in earnest and his rescuer-captor finally dropped him hard on a path-side bench. Scrambling up to a seated position, he found himself staring up into the blue eyes of Jim Kirk. "That was a dumbass play, McCoy," the kid quipped, "You trying to mess up that pretty face of yours?"

"Fuck you." He grumbled and the little punk's smirk grew. Turning his face away from the kid's probing eyes, he muttered, "I guess I was lucky you came along."

Jim laughed, low and dark and full of intent. "No, McCoy, you weren't lucky. I've been watching you. I knew you'd find your way into something like this."

A blistering sense of outrage burst out of him. "What the fuck do you mean, you've been watching me. I'm a grown-ass man, you arrogant prick. I don't need a fucking baby-sitter."

Jim's grin gleamed cold and white in the streetlight. "Oh, you're grown alright." He chuckled, "That's kind of my point. And I'm not so sure you don't need a babysitter." He struck suddenly, his movements sharp and defined, and Len found himself straddled and pinned, his arms pressed uselessly against the bench and his neck bent back beneath Jim's heavy gaze. A cold fist seized his heart as he met the crystal-blue stare. It was hungry and fierce, caging him easily as he instinctively slunk back. He knew this gaze, had felt it before beneath the probing assessment of the woman who would be his wife. Her eyes had been cold, though, calculating, while these burned through to his soul. It was the glare of a predator and Len suddenly realized that he was the prey.

"Listen up, Doc," the kid mouthed in his ear. "I'm not above jumping into a fight and I'm not above saving people who deserve saving but that isn't what this is about. You didn't even know that bitch and you go and put yourself on the line for her. What the hell were you thinking?"

Struggling uselessly against Jim's hold, Len stared at him in disbelief. "I was thinking that she needed fucking _help_."

"You were thinking that you could fucking help by taking her place?" Jim snorted, "Bad move, Doctor. Don't you dare do it again."

Unrestrained fury gave Len a sudden burst of sheer strength and he almost managed to get an arm free, but Jim was apparently pretty damn livid, too, and Len found his hands summarily slammed back down into the bench. Crowding in close and forcing Len's neck back in a deep arch, he leaned in and hissed, "You don't get to run around throwing this dumb ass of yours into danger whenever you fucking feel like it, and do you want to know why?" Without warning, he drove a knee between Len's legs, shoving them apart as he shifted to kneel between them. Len's curses and struggled did nothing to dissuade the damn kid as he drank Len in with ravenous eyes.

"You're ass is mine, McCoy," he said quietly, matter-of-factly, ignoring the look of shock that graced the doctor's face. "It belongs to me. No one else gets to fuck it but me. And if I find out you've been letting people get close to it, for whatever reason, I promise I will make you regret it."

He pushed away, moving a couple of paces back as Len choked and sputtered on his own shock. It took him whole minutes to find his voice but the ensuing outburst had been volcanic.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, you snot-nosed fucking infant?" He spewed, leaping to his feet. "You don't own me. You barely fucking know me and as far as I'm concerned it can stay that way. Now, you keep the hell away from me, you bastard. I mean it."

He turned on his heels and took exactly four furious steps when a deep voice practically rent the sky with its thunderous command.

"_McCoy_."

He froze. His brain might be shorting out on rage but his survival instincts were apparently still functioning because he couldn't seem to resist the pull that dragged him back around to face the man stalking towards him. It wasn't Jim, this enigmatic stranger staring daggers into his chest, it was James T. Kirk, a man who didn't tolerate refusal. Reaching a hand around the back of Len's neck, he pulled him close. "No one, McCoy. _No one. _I wouldn't push me on this because someday I'll be ready to have you writhing and begging under me and I will make you pay for it in sweat and blood if you give it to someone else first. And you don't even want to know what I'll do to them. So, you just go back to your medical rounds and your do-gooder shit, but you keep your ass out of the line of fire and off people's radar, Doctor. You've been fucking warned."

He'd released him easily, stepping back two paces to hook his fingers in his pockets and smirk, the fire fading from his eyes. Len stared a moment, incredulous, but his mouth managed to form a promise.

"It'll never happen, Kirk. It'll never fucking happen."

Jim winked. "We'll see."

_The chronometer ticks beside him, counting down seconds and minutes. Beta shift is drawing to a close and whatever bureaucratic glad-handing Jim has been occupied with will no doubt soon be over. The admirals and dignitaries have beamed back down, the ship has broken its orbit around Earth, and the unending litany of communications from Starfleet has finally trickled to a close. There are no duties, no distractions left, and that can only mean one thing. Jim'll be here soon for his date with inevitability. The goddamn hairs on Len's neck tell him it's true._

Len had done everything in his power to avoid the kid, fury, resentment, and a healthy dose of real fear fueling his vigilance as he skulked carefully across the campus and ate with his back against a wall. At times he felt paranoid and more than a little ridiculous, because for all his challenging stares and gauntlets, Jim Kirk seemed to have totally forgotten him. The kid was busy, though, carefully laying the foundation for a formidable power base, and from his place in the corner, Len had a perfect view of the machinations. He supposed he could relax, let his guard down a little, but some inbred sense of self-preservation screamed that he must stay alert. It would be the perfect ploy, after all, for Jim to lull him into a false sense of security and then pounce.

It turned out he was only half right.

It was nearly eight months after the exchange on the park bench that a bright, smiling Jim Kirk suddenly plunked himself down next to him in the mess and deftly swiped his apple. Len grimaced and pulled away but Jim casually slung an arm around his shoulders, his hold warm, soft, and completely fucking unbreakable. Collapsing back into his chair, Len tensed for an attack as he turned his head to face the deadly ray of sunshine beside him.

"You need something, Kirk?" he bit out slowly.

Jim's smile was ruthless yet oddly genuine as he dug a hand lightly into Len's shoulder. "You know, you've impressed the hell out of me, McCoy. It was a simple test, really, to ignore you and see if you'd drop your guard, and wouldn't you know, you never did. You've been careful as hell the last couple of months, which tells me two things. One, you can understand the necessary subtlety of defensive strategy, which I appreciate. And two," he continued, leaning in closer, "It shows me that you know I was serious. It's nice to see I don't have to re-enforce the lesson."

He let go this time when Len struggled, allowing the doctor to backpedal into the corner, outrage pouring out of him. "You damn piece of…you arrogant…goddammit, kid, you don't tell me what the hell to do!" His voice was a whisper but it carried his ferocity nonetheless. It was the voice that cowed sadistic Imperial nurses but it had no damn effect against the shiny gold menace seated next to him. He merely looked amused, even a little exasperated. "Okay, McCoy, you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. All I'm saying is, don't do anything stupid."

Jim had become a regular presence after that, chatting him up in the mess or the library, dropping in during his infirmary shifts for various treatments, strolling along beside him across campus. They were simple interactions, apparently harmless, but Len had learned quickly that in the cutthroat world of the Imperial Fleet, nothing was innocuous, especially James T. Kirk. True, he was the son of a legend but his own rapidly growing reputation for vicious, brilliant ruthlessness was fast eclipsing his father's legacy. The kid did nothing that wasn't somehow tied to the furtherance of his own agenda and Len knew damn well what intentions lay behind Jim's so-called extensions of friendship.

He was laying claim.

That was it. He was marking Len as his, challenging others to try and steal a taste, and Len wasn't having any part of it. He might not be a power hungry psychopath, which put him at a distinct disadvantage in Starfleet, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight a good damn fight. Jim was amassing strength, allies, and enemies, and while Len had no stomach for power-struggles, he could still mount a good defense. He had one hand to play; his excellent medical skills. If he could make himself visible, valuable, then it might give him the leverage he needed to get assigned to his choice of Starbase, a post no upwardly mobile young command track cadet would ever want to take.

That had been his plan, and he had stuck with it faithfully, excelling to the top of his class while Kirk continued to clear-cut his way through Starfleet with strategic abandon. Len was focused and driven, keeping a safe distance from his classmates at all times. He told himself this was practical, that he had a mission and he didn't need any distractions, but a quiet part of him admitted that he knew better than to poke a stick at a rattlesnake. The seeming success of his plot should have given him a sense of security, but Len couldn't help but notice that whenever he moved up another position in his class rank, Jim Kirk seemed to smile.

_He shivers again, his eyes still locked on the bulkhead, his back still facing the door. He ge__ntly examined his battered psyche, tasting fear and despair, but also a strange dose of nervous anticipation. It's understandable he supposes, all things considered. After all, he hasn't had sex with anyone but his right hand in more than three damn years. No, he'd let Jim lock up his dick with invisible chains that were heavy and chafing. Jim was a force of nature, concentrated and direct and powerfully disastrous. He could destroy so easily and with no discernable conscience. Len knew this well. He'd seen it firsthand._

He wouldn't say Nancy was a nice girl. She wasn't. She was typical Starfleet, with her loyalties and ambitions, but she also had a quick mind and a quick wit and a nice laugh Len had enjoyed over coffee. She wanted him, of that Len was certain, and for the first time in two years, Len found himself considering ignoring Jim's warnings, because really, what the hell could the kid actually do?

He'd found out pretty damn fast.

He was roughly one month into his little rebellion when they headed off campus together to an out-of-the-way café on the bay. It was friendly, casual, and they maintained a careful distance because Len might be living dangerously here, but he wasn't suicidal. Not yet at least. The coffee was sweet and the conversation easy until a forceful, insistent tremor at the nape of his neck caused him to throw a glance over his shoulder.

And freeze.

Jim didn't say a word, didn't have to as he held Len's eyes, an enigmatic little half-smile decorating his lips as he wagged a remonstrative finger from his perch by the door. Len's stomach turned at the murderous light that danced behind Jim's blue eyes, and when the finger curled dangerously into a crook, beckoning him over, he didn't hesitate but limped to the wall like a well kicked puppy. It was demeaning as hell, the sick burn of it radiating across his cheek, neck, and shoulders, but the room was too full to risk a confrontation and he didn't want Jim storming into the middle of the café to collect him.

The damn kid gave him no room for false courage, snaking an arm around the small of his back and pinning him against the wall. They could have been any lovestruck couple but for the words that echoed in his ear.

"Did I or did I not give you ample warning, McCoy," a harsh voice spit. The hand around his back dug in furiously and he bit down on a groan. The situation was tense enough to snap, but Len couldn't seem to help himself. Furious indignation roiled within him and he struggled in Jim's arms as he hissed, "Goddammit, I'm having a cup of fucking coffee with a friend. Where the hell do you get off…"

"Shut the fuck up, McCoy. Just shut the fuck up." The blue fire suddenly blazed to new intensity and Len forced himself to choke down his own rage. Hell, Nancy was less than twenty feet away. He couldn't risk setting Jim off.

They held each other's gaze, the blue burning all over Len as he fought to stay relaxed beneath Jim's hands. The minutes crept by as the raging inferno slowly faded to a steady, controlled blaze. A hint of amusement actually colored Jim's voice as he spoke.

"You're right, you know. You're just having coffee with a friend. In fact, you've been really careful to make sure you haven't crossed any lines, haven't you. You wanted to test the limits a bit, see how far you could push things. I get that, but don't you dare try to sit here and tell me that this was some innocent little meeting. In case you haven't noticed, I see everything, and I sure as hell see where this little liaison is going. I already told you, McCoy, you're ass is mine and if anyone gets close to it, I will rain down hell. So, you'd better think before you try to play games with me because I _will_ win."

That was it. Caution flew straight out the damn window as he shoved hard against Jim's chest and raged in a livid whisper. "You egotistical prick. I've fucking had it. You do not own me. You do not get to tell me what the …"

His rant dissolved in a hiss of pain as hard, ungiving fingers dug into his hips and spun him roughly, flattening him face first against the wall. His struggles were furious but futile against the loping, rangy body that pinned him with ease. The smug bastard chuckled darkly as his lips brushed Len's ear.

"Are you so sure about that?" He asked, the calm certainty in his voice effectively cutting off Len's struggles. "Well, Doctor, I'll tell you what. Let's put it to the test. Let's find out if I own you."

Len felt the knot of tension tightening in his belly again and he struggled uselessly beneath Jim's iron hold. "What the hell do you mean?"

He could feel Jim's smirk against his ear. "Well now, let's see. So far, I've told you that you're mine, and I've also shown you and pretty much every other bastard on campus, just what the hell I'm capable of, right? But see, I haven't ever really taken the time to show you just how far I'm willing to go to make sure you toe the line. I actually thought you wouldn't need this, that you got it and didn't need some elaborate example, but hey, nobody's perfect, right." Ignoring Len's squirming, Jim continued calmly. "Now, let me lay this down for you. First, you're never going to speak to that bitch again. Never. If you do, I'll know, so don't even try it. Right now, though, you have a decision to make. The right choice will make both of your punishments a hell of a lot easier.

You're going to walk out the door over there, McCoy. You're going to head back to campus, go to your dorm or the library or where ever the fuck you need to be. You're going to go on with your week, and sometime, when you're not expecting it, I'm going to punish you. You won't know when or how, but when it happens, you'll take it.

If you do that, McCoy, then I'll go easy on your friend over there. I won't totally annihilate her for daring to make a play for what's mine. And don't give me that," he continued when Len growled in protest. "You're little buddy Nancy knew exactly what she was doing and who she was messing with and that's a fact. So that's choice number one.

Choice number two isn't quite so nice. That's the one where I tell you to go home and you tell me no. Here's what happens then. I put you in a headlock and compress your carotid artery until you lose consciousness and then carry you out of here over my shoulder like a misbehaving cavewomen. I _still_ punish you, but it'll be way worse. I _still_ punish little Nancy, only she doesn't get to walk away from it. And you _still_ never talk to the bitch again." Pushing back from the wall, Jim yanked him around and faced him with an unyielding stare. "So tell me, Doctor, what's it going to be?"

Waves of sick, helpless fury washed over Len but he kept his eyes fastened to the floor, dissecting the colors in the tiles and breathing evenly. God, he might not relish the power of life and death like so many of his contemporaries, but in this moment, he thought he could still sleep easy if he slit this kid's throat. "Just tell me this." He muttered bitterly. "Why, okay? Why me? Out of every person on this whole damn campus, why'd you have to fucking fixate on me?"

Jim's smile was cryptic but laced with a tinge of affection as he reached out a hand to stroke possessive circles around Len's cheek. "Oh, McCoy, where to start? You're face, your body, your belligerent attitude. How 'bout the simple fact that I can? I'm not even really sure I could explain it. Now get out of here." He ordered with a shove, giving Len's ass a swat that bordered on playful and promised punishment, "Unless, of course, you want option number two."

Len didn't argue. He didn't make a choice. He simply went.

The indignity of it choked like sulfur but he made himself move his feet, made himself stare ahead instead of glancing at Nancy's stricken but knowing face as Jim dropped into the seat across from her.

He made his way back to campus, each step a painful reminder of the hard truth staring him in the face; the bitter truth that Jim was right. He, Leonard McCoy, was fucking owned, tied down by his own debilitating compassion and his nemesis' complete lack of remorse. He'd lived on this campus for years and seen the dog eat dog nature of his classmates, and if there was one thing he knew for sure it was that Jim Kirk was the alpha in that pack of vicious curs. A man didn't get to that position unless he was willing to do two things; carry a big stick and use it without hesitation. Len has spent enough of his time in the infirmary patching up the fallout, and he wouldn't be a part of anything that involved the wrath of Jim Kirk, a wrath that he feared was still largely untapped.

For three straight days he stalked the campus in a state of perpetual unease. He hadn't seen any signs of Nancy since his involuntary departure from the café, and while he caught glimpses of Jim everywhere, he couldn't get close enough to ask any questions. The elusive bastard kept dancing just outside of his grasp, smirking all the way, and Len eventually realized he'd have to find a different tactic.

Nancy's fate was not his only concern, though. His annual review before the Imperial Medical Board was upon him and the stakes were increasingly high. He knew his reputation on campus, exceptionally competent and talented, prone to emotional outbursts, and far too empathetic for his own good. It was a fair assessment, and he cultivated it carefully, playing on the notion that a strong skill set would get him a good placement but his lack of sadistic ambition would keep him off a starship. It was a delicate balance, and a solid performance in front of his cold and unforgiving superiors would go a long way towards maintaining it. With that thought in mind, he'd carefully donned his dress reds, forcing his mind on the meeting to the exclusion of anything else. He was just about to walk out the door when his PADD beeped. Grabbing it up off the bed, he'd stared at the incoming message.

There was no sender listed, but that really wasn't a surprise. One of Jim's many unsavory skills was computer hacking, and sending an untraceable message was little more than child's play. Staring at the screen, Len felt the strength run out of his legs as the full weight of the words in front of him settled on his shoulders.

It was a simply transfer order, innocent in and of itself, securing Nancy's participation in an archeological field study on the recently charted M-113 under the tutelage of the eccentric Dr. Robert Crater. It was harmless really, safe, yet the words filled Len with cold, cloying dread. God, it had been four days. Four damn days and Jim had managed to make Nancy disappear. The terrifying implications fell on Len like lead. He knew Jim had power, knew he'd made the right alliances in the right places, but no cadet should have that kind of reach. A shudder ran down Len's spine as he shut off his PADD and headed out the door. His previously calm and collected mind was scattered, courtesy of Jim's impeccable timing, but he didn't have the luxury of panic. He needed to get his head on straight for the damned review.

His stomach settled a little as he crossed the campus, focusing all his energy on practicing his answers to the board's inquiries. Winding his way through the open hallways of the Imperial Medical Center, he glanced at the time and resolved to take a seat outside the review hall and calm the hell down when a hand suddenly manacled his bicep and yanked him roughly to the left.

He was flung into darkness, tripping over his own flailing legs as a door slid shut behind him and left him floundering. He tried to find his footing and bearings, only to lose both as firm hands dragged him roughly to his feet and shoved him face-first into the wall. He squirmed and swore like a demon as his wrists were yanked roughly behind his back and slapped in restraints, as he was spun gracelessly around, his legs forced apart by the steady press of an unyielding knee. His attacker was right in front of him, wrapping a leg around Len's calf and letting the hard tip of a boot press painfully on his inner ankle before grabbing his chin with the heel of one hand and forcing his neck and back into a painful arch. He shifted and struggled but knew it was a waste. He wasn't going anywhere.

The hand on his chin remained firm but a lone finger slowly began to circle gently over his cheek as a familiar scent tickled his nose. He knew that smell well; aftershave and murderous ambition. It seemed Jim's perfect timing wasn't limited to his PADD.

"Now, McCoy," the kid's voice whispered, breath tickling his ear, "I thought I made myself clear to you. Didn't I say 'When the punishment comes, you _will_ take it'?"

A sudden rush of real rebellion swelled in his gut, screaming for him to kick and fight but an equally strong sense reality quickly pierced the red haze. He couldn't fight dammit, couldn't do anything but shut his mouth and take what was coming, because Nancy might be all the way off planet but that didn't mean she was out of Jim's impressive reach. After all, that was the point of this whole demonstration, wasn't it; to prove who was in control, to darken the Jim Kirk brand of ownership on his ass. Len felt all the fight draining out of him, replaced by an air of helpless resignation, and he sagged submissively against the wall.

"That's better," the voice at his ear whispered, the grip on his chin gentling into a caress. Len felt Jim's other hand sliding slowly over his stomach and he forced himself to remain calm.

"Now, the rules here are simple, McCoy," the bastard whispered, pressing in hard against his back, "You will not move. You will not struggle or fight me at all. If you do, I can promise you won't like the consequences." A slight shift of the kid's toe against Leonard's ankle sent a bolt of pain shooting up his leg. "If you fight, McCoy, then I classify this punishment as a failure. That means we move on to the other option, the one where certain people don't walk away in one piece. So, mind your manners and do exactly as I say. Understand?"

Len could feel his jaw clenching and his cheeks burst into furious flame but he forced his head into a slight nod. He heard and felt the satisfied grunt echo from Jim as the kid used the bulk of his weight to pin Len's chest tight against the wall. The hand on his chin remained fixed but strong, steady fingers stroked with additional fervency along his belly and waist. A dreadful, dawning sense of understanding fractured in his mind just as the wandering hand struck, seizing his balls in an unbreakable grip.

"Don't _fucking_ move."

The barely leashed menace in Jim's voice froze him in place, even as the hand began a steady , circular motion around the his groin. The movement was firm and intentional, and Len nearly groaned aloud as his treacherous dick began responding forcefully to the sudden attention. Behind him, Jim omitted a dark chuckle and pressed harder, dragging a gasp from his prisoner's mouth.

"Good, McCoy," he whispered, "Enjoy it."

Len's shoulders jerked instinctively but he managed to control the fight that was threatening to explode out of him. A sinking fear was building in his stomach and he couldn't help but shift beneath the pressure. This was no teasing touch; it was hard and purposeful and his long-neglected dick was already rock hard. Shit, _shit_, this was bad. If the damn kid didn't stop he was going to…

"That's right, McCoy. Putting the pieces together, aren't you. To be honest, I'm not really sure what the punishment would be for showing up to your review sporting come stains all over your reds, but I don't think they'd limit it to the booth." The hand on his chin suddenly released, skimming down his chest and pushing into his pants to shackle the base of his throbbing erection. Len gasped as the threat of immediate orgasm was cut off but Jim's hand didn't stop its firm, deliberate stroking.

"So it seems," the kid continued, "that you have another decision to make. You deserve punishment, but I doubt you want to take what the board will dish out if you blow your load all over yourself here. So, what do you think we should do?"

"Oh, I'm sure you've already got a pretty good idea," he gasped against the wall, bristling under the near tangible quality of Jim's smirk. "Enough games, dammit. What the hell do you want?"

The hands on his body moved with sudden surety, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. The hard blue eyes that met his eyes told him instantly that Jim wasn't playing a game. He twisted in the restraints as a hand cradled the back of his neck and soft, merciless fingers fanned over his chest, drifting gradually lower in an unspoken threat. The grip on his neck tightened in warning and he forced himself to meet Jim's stare as the kid's voice washed over him in burning, silky tendrils.

"Oh, what do I want? Nothing too invasive, Doctor." Leaning toward him, Jim gently brushed the tips of their noses as his grin curled maliciously. "What I want, McCoy, is for you to kiss me. And it better be good."

A torrent of vitriolic fury raced through the pinned doctor, but it stuttered to a dead stop at the tip of his tongue. He nearly choked on the backlash, sucking the angry words back down, but the deadly serious look in the kid's eyes gave him no other choice. He could only stare back, and when he spoke, the words were quiet, almost meek, and he hated their taste in his mouth.

"I can't just kiss you. I can't just fake shit I don't feel."

The kid nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed. It's a problem, McCoy, a weakness you can't afford. See, I find you kind of amusing when you run around wearing your heart on your sleeve, but it's a still a liability. You need to learn how to fake and this'll be lesson number one.

"I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, I believe it, but you're going to kiss me like you love me because if you don't, I'm going to throw you to the review board covered in your own come. Just imagine what that'll do to your little top secret agenda to get assigned to a starbase far, far away from me."

Len could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as Jim gave him a long, assessing gaze. "C'mon, Doc," he laughed. "You can't really believe I wouldn't put it together. I'm a strategic genius, remember, and I think we already established that you suck at hiding shit. It's a good plan, actually, considering your limited resources, but pissing off the review board will blow a hole in it the size of the Klingon Empire, so if I were you, I'd pucker the hell up. On the count of three. One…"

"Kirk!"

"Two."

_Fuck_.

"Three."

He didn't think. He didn't let himself. He simply lunged forward, latching onto the damn kid's mouth and grinding their lips together furiously. He kissed him hard and sloppy, thoughtlessly, as his rage and humiliation poured out of him. He could sense Jim's amusement even before he ripped their mouths apart and pulled Len's ear to his lips.

"No, no, McCoy. That isn't right at all. I can taste everything your feeling and it sure as hell isn't love. Now, I want you to fool me, Doctor_, _and you'd better do it quick. I'd hate for you to be late for your review."

Leonard's hands twisted in the restraints but he made himself stay calm. What could he say? The little shit was right. The academy was bad enough but he'd never survive Starfleet on his own if he couldn't control his emotions and put on a front when the situation called for it. He'd learn this lesson or die in ignorance and that was the bitter fucking truth. With a deep breath, he nodded his head. "Okay, okay, you're right."

He didn't lunge this time, just leaned in gently, skimming his lips faintly across Jim's as he took a moment to meet the kid's gaze. He let the tip of his tongue curl lightly over Jim's top lip, their eyes still locked and dueling as their tongues found each other and began to softly joust. There was amusement in the kid's eyes, and a definitive sheen of victory, and Leonard found he couldn't hold both the stare and the pretense of willingness. Slamming his eyes shut, he clamped down on all conscious thought and simply gave in.

The tempo of the kiss changed quickly, the delicate hesitation falling by the wayside as their mouths clashed again, not viscous and one-sided but mutual and fierce. Jim's hands had settled on his hips, his whole body pressing Len back into the wall, and the sensations were overwhelming. He could feel it in his toes, feel it all the way to the end of his dick, and the desire to rut wildly against his captor was almost uncontrollable. He fought it, fingernails leaving crescent shaped cuts in his palms as he clenched down on the insane desire. He would not give into his body turned traitor. He would not give up the façade and let this become something real.

He was saved from his internal conflict by Jim's sudden retreat, a quick nip to his jaw signifying that the lesson was apparently over. Len's palms itched to wipe the look of smug satisfaction off the bastard's face, but he pressed his lips together and held his temper as he was spun around and felt the restraints slip off.

"That was pretty good, McCoy," the poison-honeyed voice proclaimed in his ear as he stared at the wall and massaged his wrists. "In fact, I'd almost believe you do love."

"You believe whatever the fuck you want," he spit out. "Are we done now?"

Two hands flattened against the wall, flanking his head as Jim leaned lightly against his back. "Yeah, McCoy, we're done, unless you show me you need another lesson. Now, you need to hurry along or you'll be late."

Shoving off the wall, Leonard headed for the door. He wanted to get away, to put distance between himself and this power drunk asshole, but the damned question came bubbling out of his mouth before he could bite it back.

"Dammit, why the hell do you even care? You've never even tried to touch me before today."

"That a problem, McCoy?" the kid demanded, stalking towards him. "You want me to touch you?"

"No," he stuttered, taking several steps back as Jim perused him with barely veiled amusement. "I don't want any of this. All I want is to fucking understand why."

"I already told you why, McCoy. You're you and I can. That's it. As for why I don't fuck you, that's simple, too. You're my reward, Doctor. You're what I'll give myself once I win. I plan to fuck you for years and years and years to come, so I can be patient. And the first time I have you, it's not going to be in some squalid little dorm bed or shoved up against the wall of a closet. It's going to be in an officer's cabin on a Starship."

The blue eyes were alight with confidence and Leonard felt himself wilt beneath them. Reaching behind him, he palmed open the door and stepped into the hall. Meeting Jim's stare, he choked out one last pitiful rebellion. "It won't happen, Kirk. It'll never fucking happen."

A low chuckle filled his ears as he hurried towards the review hall. "I already told you, McCoy. We'll see."

_He lets his eyes drift around the room, surveying the layout. He sees the small, standard issue couch, the desk, the bed he'd barely made up. He imagines that pretty soon he'll be intimately acquainted with every damn flat surface in his quarters, but he's morbidly curious about where it will start. Hell, it might not even be here. Jim could easily call him to the captain's cabin, but Leonard's instincts tell him he won't. No, Jim will want to make a point, to show him that there is nowhere Leonard can go that he can't follow, and that will mean invading every inch of Len's personal space._

_It's not as if the location matters, really. The term "CMO's cabin" is just a label, really. The whole ship is Jim's, like everything is Jim's; all the pull and the clout and the power. Hell, it seems like even fate was on his side._

In the end, when he looked back, he would have to face the facts. He'd actually brought himself to this place, his own inherent weaknesses combining together to form a noose to hang him. One simple act of compassion combined with a genuine fear of flying was all it had taken to snare him completely.

Jim had pissed off Spock, finding some way to beat the Vulcan's Kobayashi Maru simulation that just reeked of underhanded machinations. It was a calculated gamble because while success might hand him the keys to the kingdom, it would also bring down the unwanted fury of the commander. Spock was equally driven, equally ruthless, and equally powerful, in every way a bad choice to court as one's enemy. His vengeance had struck deep, landing Jim on academic suspension only one day after his infamous victory over the unbeatable test.

Len had nearly choked when the distress call came in from Vulcan and he realized he'd been assigned to the Enterprise. The damn flagship, captained by Chris Pike, Jim's ally and mentor, was just too damn much for him to take. He broke from the rest of his unit, fled back through the hanger, only to be lassoed around the waist and dragged to the side.

"Where the hell are you going?"

He glared. "Jim, I can't fucking do this.

"Oh, c'mon now, McCoy. It's a battle. Just think of all the sick and injured you'll be able to fix up. Should be just a little slice of heaven for you."

"Fuck you."

"Soon enough."

"Look, I just can't do this."

"Oh, yes you will. You don't have a damn choice. They won't booth you for something like this. They'll kill you, and I can't let that happen. So, here's what we're going to do. You and I are going to strike a little deal."

A deal, he'd called it. A moment of insanity and an illegally procured vaccination, and suddenly Jim was on the Enterprise, sitting in the command chair and calling the shots. In amidst the chaos of exploding ships and planets and death, Len found himself in charge of sickbay after the demise of his superior, either by Romulans or a well-timed assassination. And then the Romulan's ship was exploding and his arms were full of the injured but deadly Christopher Pike and he was pulling miracles out of thin air to put the man back together when others would've watched him die.

Then they were back on Earth, an Earth that still existed thanks to Jim, and the Empire was lauding the bastard's ruthless ingenuity and promising him the moon. He'd demanded and received the Enterprise, demanded and received Spock and the pick of his crew. Len could feel his slim thread of hope waning and when his orders finally came through, he hadn't even read them. He'd just seized the PADD and thrown himself on the mercy of the last chance in the universe he had left.

The recently promoted admiral was seated in his hoverchair behind an impressive genuine redwood desk. He eyed McCoy coolly as he twirled a stylus idly between his fingers. There was a hint of boredom in his voice as he said, "I'm not really seeing your problem here, McCoy."

Len's mouth twisted and he couldn't contain his words. "Jesus, Pike, he'll be my goddamned commanding officer. You know what that means!"

Pike eyes stayed hard, "Yes, Dr. McCoy, I know perfectly well what it means, seeing as I've enjoyed the privilege myself, and I can guarantee that that is exactly what Jim Kirk wants from you. He's going to fuck you, Doctor. He's going to order you into his bed, and you _will_ go." The eyes barely changed but the admiral's tone took on a definitive bite. "I'll be straight with you, McCoy, so you know I mean what I say. You will do what he wants, whatever it might be. If he tells you to get on your knees, you will drop. If he tells you to spread your fucking legs and ride his dick in his command chair in front of the entire bridge crew, you will do it and you will like it."

Chair or not, Pike was still one scary ass mother-fucker as he leaned hard on his desk and fixed Len with a glacial glare. "Get this straight, McCoy. Jim Kirk and I may not always like each other, but we understand each other very well. You might say we have similar agendas, and it's in our mutual interests to keep each other happy. He saved my life and I gave him my ship. That wasn't a reward, it was just his fucking due. You, though, Doctor, you were a gift, from me to him and you'd better remember that. You want to push him and bitch and be your usual pissy self, well fine, because I guess that's what he likes about you, but don't think for one second that you'll be able to mount any kind of real resistance. He'd knock it out of you on his own eventually, but he's got more important things to do up there and your job is to be a relief, not a distraction. If I find out you're not cooperating, I'll have you shaved, trussed, gagged and plugged and fucking hand-delivered to him on the bridge in nothing but a big red ribbon! Are we understanding each other, Doctor?"

They stared at each other across the desk as a cold knot of hopelessness settled over Len. There was no way out of this. His only avenue of escape had just crudely informed him that he was, in fact, the one who'd offered up his ass on a silver platter. Pulling his eyes away, he drew himself up carefully. "Yes, Sir. May I be excused, Sir?"

Pike ice hard eyes melted into amusement. "That's it, McCoy? You don't have anything else to say?"

Len grimaced. "What could I possibly have to say, Sir?" he bit out. "I came here to ask for your help but it's pretty damn obvious where you stand on that. So there doesn't seem to be any reason for me to stay here…_Sir_."

Chuckling lightly, Pike cocked his head at him. "Is that what this is about, Leonard? You think I should save you? You think I owe you because you glued me back together?"

Genuine outrage roared through Len and he bit down on it as best he could. He was already completely fucked, dammit, and he didn't need to let his dumbass temper make it worse. Clenching his fists, he replied tightly, "I'm a doctor, Admiral. I fix people, okay, and not just because I'll get something out of it for me. I put you back together because that's who I am and what I do!"

"Exactly."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The joviality ran quickly out of Pike's face. "McCoy, sometimes I really can't believe you. I don't know if you're the biggest damn fuck-up to ever come through Starfleet or if you're just too good to be true." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, McCoy, you're a doctor. You're a great fucking doctor with a stellar track record. You're a genius, you're obviously capable of pulling off the near impossible to keep people alive, and above all, you're completely fucking guileless. You have no damn aspirations beyond saving lives.

But for all your brilliance, Doctor, you sure can act like one gullible southern hick. You healed me, McCoy. You also saved my life and you didn't ask for shit for doing it. And let me tell you, every ranking officer in the Fleet is aware of that. They want you, McCoy. They _all_ want a piece of you. Some want you because you're brilliant, some because it'll fuck with Jim, some because it'll fuck with me. Some just want you because you're so goddamn pretty.

They all want you, but I can promise you this, none of them intends to take care of you. The why's might be different but the what is always the same. They want to break you, McCoy. They want to fucking eat you alive. Some know it, some don't, but it's true nonetheless. They all want to pull you into little pieces.

That's your problem, McCoy. You're too fucking human. You're sentimental and soft. But I know that also means you're rare and precious and while most of these fucknuts in command won't see that, Jim Kirk will. Now, I know what you're thinking," he continued when Len opened his mouth to protest. "And you're right. He's a sick, driven bastard who will stop at practically nothing to get what he wants, and that includes you. But Doctor, he will take care of you, because to him, you are _precious_. He will own you and push you and fuck you over every available surface of that ship. He will stretch you and bend you and he will never, ever let you go, but he will not break you, of that I am sure. So that's how I've repaid my debt to you, Doctor. I've kept you safe, whether you want to believe it or not."

"Great, so you saved me by making me Jim Kirk's fucking catamite. Do I even get to practice medicine up there, or would that take too much time away from my primary duties."

What the hell was he doing? Hell, he could be boothed for his tone alone, the disrespect and belligerence practically dripping off his tongue. Seated before him, though, Pike merely looked contemplative and kind of amused. "McCoy, shut up. Don't twist my words. The bottom line here is that every captain in the fleet wants you as their CMO, especially Jim Kirk. I'm not screwing around here. You're going up on that ship with all the power and authority that position entails. I'm the last person alive who would ever question or waste your medical mind, and Jim Kirk is no fool either. He wants the very best crew for his ship, and you, Doctor, are definitely the best. If Jim had asked me to make some mindless fucktoy his doctor just so he could play with him on off hours, I would've said no, but Jim Kirk never would have done that, am I right. You'll be exceptional at your job, which helps his ship and crew, you're a desired commodity, which helps his power base and position in the Fleet, and, lest we forget, you're completely fuckable." Relaxing back into his chair, Pike smirked. "You, Doctor, are simply the whole package, an asset to him in every way. I suggest you get used to it. Oh, and McCoy."

"Yes, _Sir_."

"You're dismissed."

_He can feel the footsteps along the deck floor long before the supposedly locked door of his cabin whispers open and shut. There is pressure against his back, a displacement of air that sends helpless shivers up his spine as he grits his teeth and stares at the far wall._

_There is no hardness in the hands that are suddenly on his skin, no gripping, seizing or pinning. There are only fingers, light and warm, that settle on his hips and graze under his shirt to rest against his stomach. There are warm puffs of breath against his neck and the radiating heat of a body less than a millimeter away from his own. The hands on his skim are moving in slow, concentric circles, fingertips skimming barely beneath the waist of his pants. His mind is screaming in furious rebellion but his body relaxes when it is tugged gently backward to melt into the warm core behind it. _

_A furious snort manages to escape his mouth._

"_Hell, Jim. What, are you going to make it good for me?"_

_Warm lips are working along his throat and he can feel the bared teeth of Jim's grin. "That, McCoy, is totally up to you. I will if you let me."_

_Pike's words are in the front of his mind, and he forces himself to hang his head submissively as Jim's hands and mouth continue to move over him. His mind is screaming but his body is, too, coming alive under the captain's calculating touch. He swallows his anger, well aware that it's the only option available, and forces his mind to focus on the physical. His pants are open, a hand has caught his growing erection and a low voice is whispering in his ear._

"_Remember, McCoy, I always get what I want."_

_And in all the remaining years of his life, Leonard never forgot._

_

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**A/N: This was written for a livejournal kink meme prompt but I simply can't remember which kink meme it came from, so if it looks familiar to anyone, please let me know.**


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